Swimming in the Dead of Winter
by MaL
Summary: A Kirisawa Fuuko fic... Go figure...
1. Oblivion

A product of Insomnia

Standard Disclaimers Apply

A first attempt in writing a FoR fanfic.

Swimming in the Dead of Winter

- Oblivion

* * *

Kirisawa Fuuko stood on the balcony of the hotel and shivered. It was the coldest night of the year, well below freezing, and she was wearing a 'lil excuse of a dress, sexy strappy shoes and to top it all up - a bright fake smile to boot. She was dressed to impressed; to show the others that she wasn't just the cold office tyrant they made her out to be - but she was also perfectly capable of having fun and being sociable, yet still looking reliably gorgeous, that is, only when the occasion calls for it.

And impressed she definitely did. For over half of the male population in the room had been training their eyes on her, eyeing her every graceful move admiringly, since the moment she first entered the hall. The other half were either happily married, had overly jealous girlfriends who kept them on taut leashes or were simply not interested in females at all.

She shook her head politely and smiled apologetically at a potential suitor, seeking to coax her into joining him on the dance floor. Three consecutive crazed dances were enough for her. And she was lucky to have yet broken into sweat.

Well, at least she made three people feel like they were the luckiest men on earth tonight. She smirked smugly at the thought. Then completely ridding her self of that wicked smile, she replaced it instead with her infamous cold facade that immediately rendered her unapproachable and peerless. A sign so clear that she wanted to be left alone that not even an idiot would miss.

She easily sauntered her way to the bar, choosing to sit her cute rear down on an empty high stool, in the most isolated corner of the room, failing to detect the presence of a comely stranger, sitting gloomily in its darkness.

She eyed the pinned up menu pensively before casually fingering the bartender to come over. She made her order and was briefly informed that her choice was a personal favorite of the owner of the place himself. She smiled faintly in acknowledgement before letting her eyes stray and pretending to be lost in the occasion's rapture.

She turned her head back, once she sensed the coated jester leave. Shutting her eyes, she breathed out a languid sigh wishing her self away from the hub of all racket.

Her thoughts went back to her order. The cocktail was called Oblivion, which was just what she was after. All the merriment in the ambiance was spilling on her, making her feel overwhelmingly like a hypocrite by the second. She felt the need for a strong drink and Oblivion seemed to fit the bill nicely.

Then suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, her pulse quickened and her limbs grew cold.

"Fuuko." A low husky voice, most distinctively male, called out softly from behind her.

Her eyes fluttered open. She knew that voice and vaguely to whom it belonged to. But never in her lifetime did she expect to hear it address her by her first name so affectionately.

She must be dreaming, she thought.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Disenchanment

Standard disclaimers apply

Swimming in the Dead of Winter

-Disenchanment

* * *

Fuuko shook her head somberly in dismissal, thinking that it was yet another one of those days where paranoia reigned over rational thoughts. The tall brawny bartender with a mop of bleached blond for hair returned shortly with her drink and winked mischievously at her. 

"Here you go. Oblivion for the pretty _lay-dee_," he teasingly drawled.

'Perhaps,' she thought, 'Perhaps given a brain, he would have made quite a catch,' she silently mused to herself.

"Put that on my tab…"

'That voice again!'

It had always spoken in a curt, dry tone. Never warm or even tinged with the slightest hint of it. It was always sad, never happy. Even when everyone else was… It always answered coldly, sometimes, too bitterly.

She was nearly convinced she had imagined it again but was baffled when she saw the drinks server suddenly perked up with alacrity. "Hey, no problem," the artificial blond shrugged neutrally.

She quickly spun around, feeling a surge of anxiety bring color to her lightly powdered cheeks. "Tokiya?" she asked breathlessly, not quite believing her eyes even though they were her own.

Unsmilingly, but not unkindly, the newcomer returned her a firm nod, meeting her sapphire orbs with his own frosty blue, as he slowly inched closer with fluid grace. She suddenly felt ridiculously self-conscious and shyly directed her gaze away from his, settling them instead onto his classy polished boots.

She constantly worked a small reminder in the back of her mind to appear calm and disinterested. But much to her annoyance, her eyes took no heed of her mental warnings, and began to liberally wander on their own.

Eagerly, they traveled up the long lengths of his equally black leather pants, that was neither too tight nor too loose on him, only perfect. Her eyes journeyed further north and she wondered curiously how he could effortlessly make the plain white shirt look so sensuously good.

'Hell,' she thought, ' he'll probably still look good dressed in a potato sack.' At this, she smirked.

The bronze-skinned bartender looked on with partisan fascination, darting a questioning look at the two. He saw the rose-haired lady grew even more beautiful as she prettily blushed with anticipation. He had caught her eyes lighting up lucently, albeit fleetingly with recognition, as she studiously examined the stony features of the beautiful stranger standing before her.

The stranger… Hmm… what can we say about the stranger…

Though at where he stood wasn't too well lit, the streaming fairy lights filtered through the lengthy tie of his hair so that it seemed to shine like polished pewter. His face, though drained of color, was actually pretty; the kind that made heads turn to get a second look then another, and another and another… Tall and vividly blue-eyed, he was impeccably handsome. Surely, a perfect complement to the girl.

"Leave us," he said with a slow and deliberate glance in the direction of the nosy blond.

"Yes. Of course," the tanned man gave a small bow before withdrawing away to a much busier corner where his charms were better appreciated.

The stranger watched the retreating back for a while before returning his eyes on her. "Kirisawa," he spoke, reacquainting himself with the formality once again, "It's been a long time.

If six years is a long time, then it still wasn't long enough for her. No, it wasn't long at all. Even if each night was spent in cosmic unbliss, and each passing day in equivocal doubt and discontent. No, six years is not punishing enough.

Six years is too short. Six years is nothing. A long time would be more like… forever. … Yes, forever is a long time.

"Indeed, Mikagami, indeed," she had answered nonetheless, managing a weak smile.

* * *

TBC…

Thank you for reading and even greater thanks to all who commented for their kind words.


	3. Glimpses

A product of insomnia.

Standard disclaimers apply.

Swimming in the Dead of Winter

- Glimpses

* * *

No one believed in the curse. Perhaps there never was one. Perhaps it was all a series of coincidental yet unfortunate events that were unstoppable. Just like a falling block of perfectly lined up dominos. 

It was ironic that the healer of the band couldn't save her own life. The whole miraculous cure ability that she was blessed with must have finally taken a physical toll on her.

Seven months into the marriage, they discovered that all those flurrying vomit trips to the bathrooms in the mornings and evenings weren't the joyful signage of parenthood for the Hanabishis. Yanagi was dying from a chronic blood cancer of the strangest kind. It drove Recca almost to the brink of delirious insanity when he realized that there was nothing he could do to save her.

Things then went downhill thereafter.

Without her madougu, the girl who had genuinely believed and once convinced everyone that she was a human orphan, returned to her life as a doll. They should have been alarmed when her hair wasn't growing even a single inch, a year after the tournament.. But now, Ganko is just like her implanted memory of her mother. Sitting forever pretty on the shelves, forever young. Inanimate.

On the night of his seventy-seventh professional wrestling match, well-loved and celebrated heavyweight champion, Ishijima Domon, suddenly collapsed in the brawling ring a minute and fifteen seconds after his seventieth career victory. He died that night from premature coronary failure, witnessed by a crowd ten thousand strong.

Gripped by the terror of desperation and despair, it only felt right then for the rest of them to escape. Flee to save themselves from adding on to whatever inopportune fate, ruthless destiny might hold in store.

* * *

Six years later, Mikagami found himself studying his evening companion, eyes prolifically accessing every detail that had changed and hadn't, feeling a tad surreal. 

A million thoughts raced through his mind. He wanted to ask her a thousand questions but he could not think of a good way to start. He did not think a simple _"How are you?"_ would have made the cut. It sounded too clinically pretentious even to his own ears. Yet, he really did want to know how she has been.

'_Beautiful'_, his mind had decided. _'Breathtakingly so,_' both his eyes and his lack of breath earlier had reminded him thus.

"You look great, Kirisawa."

The old Fuuko would have snorted and laughed at his pathetically uncharacteristic attempt at making conversation. Mikagami Tokiya simply does not do small talk.

Instead, he was greeted with an elegantly refined arch of a brow, an almost familiar, albeit brief, glimpse of amusement twinkling in her eyes and a whiff of the most alluring feminine perfume he had ever smelt, as she slowly leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, "Why, so do you.. Mikagami."

_Oh my. Since when had Kirisawa become so irresistibly seductive?_

* * *


End file.
